


Dreamboat

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Episode: s03e03 The Chute, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:22:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26620612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Oh sh*t, he’s hot.
Relationships: Harry Kim/Tom Paris
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	Dreamboat

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The door slides open, and Tom’s head lifts up, arm still braced against the wall and hand on his hip, but eyes now piercing into Harry. There’s a split second where Harry’s breath catches, and a dozen memories come rushing back to him—seeing Tom _hurt_ , battered and bruised, bleeding, _dying_ , completely at Harry’s mercy, and Harry tried so had to hold on and _help_ , but the clamp made it so hard to see—and then Harry steadies himself and remembers that it’s been more than twenty-four hours. They’re safely home. They’ve seen each other since. They had a fantastic feast in the messhall and everything. Tom had clapped him on the back and _thanked him_ , and even when Harry admitted the worst, Tom forgave and forgot and insisted they were still friends. 

_Best friends_. Harry really doesn’t want anything to change that. And maybe it’s a little awkward, because now he’s had Tom’s life in his hands and _almost took it_ , but he’s just going to have to get over that because there’s nothing else for it. They don’t have a councilor on board. And there’s no other omega Harry would spend all his off hours with. 

He could spend more time with other alphas—B’Elanna, for starters, desperately wants to know what happened down there on the prison block— _did he see Tom in heat?_ —but Harry keeps telling himself that whatever happened on the other side of the chute should stay there. 

He’d thought Tom was on the same page, except Tom at his quarters with an oddly serious look in his eye that means they’re not going to have their usual light, after-hours jaunt. Tom even asks, “Can I come in?” instead of just brushing past Harry like usual. 

Maybe Harry should say no. Maybe he’s got too much on his mind now. But he nods, because he never could turn Tom down, and Tom saunters in around him, leaving the door to close on its own. 

Harry turns to face him and doesn’t have to wait long. Visibly sucking in a breath, Tom tells him, “I’ve been running this over in my head ever since we got back and... I dunno. I don’t know how to say it. So I’m just gonna blurt it out. I said it didn’t change things, but... try as I might to ignore it, something definitely changed.”

Harry can feel his whole self wilting and tries not to frown so hard. He can sense a faint whiff of _omega in distress_ —nothing huge, because Tom’s been through hell before and rarely breaks down. But it’s enough to put Harry on edge. 

He keeps waiting, until Tom says, “I just... I guess I never realized what a strong alpha you were before.”

Harry blinks. “Oh.” He doesn’t really know what to make of that, because, “I told you I was an alpha.” And Tom would’ve figured it out by now, because they’re going on three years out in the wilderness together, and Harry’s never once had heat leave like Tom has. 

“Yeah, but... I dunno. I didn’t really think much of it. Then I saw you down there, all... sweaty and flushed and shit, and when your sleeves came off... you’ve got pretty big biceps, you know? Plus the way you protected me...”

Harry can feel his cheeks heating. He shifts his weight onto the other foot, awkward and flattered all at once. Most people don’t think much of him as an alpha—he knows he’s relatively small, still young, just an ensign—but suddenly Tom’s looking at him like he’s got a eight pack or something. He doesn’t. 

Tom slowly adds, “And... you saw me pretty vulnerable... all sweaty and flushed too... and I was kinda in a nest there for a bit, and you curled up in it with me...”

Harry’s face is burning. “There wasn’t much room to sleep.”

“Whatever. You shared a nest with me.”

Harry opens his mouth just to close it. He did take care of Tom, for the most part. He did help bundle Tom up in a warm nest and look down at him like maybe more than—

“Look, I wasn’t gonna say anything. I really was trying to play it cool. But I can’t stop thinking that I’m stuck out here, without a whole lot of prospects, and my best friend’s kind of a hunk.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up. He dazedly repeats, “ _Hunk_?”

Tom grins, correcting, “ _Kind of._ ”

That’s so wrong. But the more Harry thinks about it, and the more he stares at Tom, thinks of Tom, breathes in the replicated cologne Tom’s able to wear again, the more he thinks that if Tom had gone into heat down there, of _course_ Harry would’ve helped him. Without a second thought. Maybe with too many thoughts. He wasn’t going to say anything about it either. 

He still can’t. Mouth dry, he forces himself to mumble, “You’re... you’re still recovering. You’re just feeling grateful.”

Tom takes a single step closer, and he was already close enough that now they’re touching—toe-to-toe, almost nose to nose. Tom tells him, “I’m feeling _horny._ ”

A shiver runs down Harry’s spine. He closes his eyes, half convinced that when he opens them, Tom won’t be there anymore, except Tom _is_ , and his blue eyes are noticeably dilated, cheeks pink, but not with the same embarrassment Harry feels. Tom’s always smelled _really good_ , with or without the cologne. It’s nice that he’s shaved since getting back—Harry prefers that look—but there was also something strangely thrilling about seeing Tom without any grooming or preparation, just _raw_ , like he must be in the throes of heats when he’s locked in his quarters for days on end, horribly _alone_.

Harry worries about him every time. Harry thinks about joining more often than he should. Then he inevitably locks those idle daydreams away and pretends they were never there at all. Tom murmurs, so close that Harry can feel the ghost of his breath, “I saw the way you looked at me, Harry. I don’t think I’m alone in this.”

He’s not. But Harry stays quiet anyway, because Tom’s an omega that’s hurting, and he’s desperate not to take advantage. Except Tom’s the one that leans in and brushes their lips together. Harry should push Tom away, but instead, he _moans_ , low and deep, laced with _years_ of pent up longing. He tries not to do anything else, but he fails. 

He smashes into Tom so hard that Tom actually reels back, but Harry’s already grabbing his face and holding him, tilting to deepen the kiss, prying past Tom’s silk-soft lips and diving into his warm mouth. Tom kisses back with just as much skill as Harry knew he’d have, more experience than Harry has, taking over, and Harry does his best to keep up with one desperate peck after another. 

By the time they part, they’re both panting. Harry’s ravenous. He was going to behave, he really was. But Tom grins like the bad boy he so often is and even teases, “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Harry shuts Tom up with another kiss. When Tom pushes him lightly backwards, towards the bed, Harry doesn’t protest, because he’s wanted it too, and maybe a part of him always knew that Tom Paris would be _his_.


End file.
